T-minus four or so days until I celebrate a birthday landmark I’ve been dreading since, well, my last “big” birthday, and I’m already on the slippery slope to decline. Trust me, I’ve got the bruises, scrapes and burns to prove it.

The first thing to go was good judgment. As evidenced by the poor decision which lead to me taking a nice tumble down that slippery slope I mentioned, which left me entangled with my golf clubs in such a way that I could do nothing but lay there for a minute waiting for a tell-tale snap. You know, the kind which can only indicate the breaking of a limb?

Thankfully, however, there was no snap and my only reminder of the ordeal (other than the recurring nightmares) is the incredibly colorful bruise gracing the inner side of my upper left arm. And the equally colorful tale I have to tell from the experience.

My memory was next to go. Or at least I think it was, I really can’t remember. If I could, perhaps I could remember why I was so remiss about taking my daily allergy pill at its designated time. This unfortunate oversight having allowed all manner of airborne allergens to waltz right into my completely unprotected, antihistamine free system.

Before I could move to right this horrible wrong (by popping the forgotten pill posthaste), the damage was already done to the delicate skin around my eyes. Which is why I looked like I had a shiner when I made my appearance at Oxford’s graduation on Saturday. The swelling has, at this point, gone down, but the unsightly redness remains. From experience, I know the next step will be wrinkles which, while temporary, will age me prematurely. (Since I’ll be sporting them in all my celebratory birthday photos.)

I can’t blame my memory on the next of my self-inflicted injuries. No, this one is all about coordination. Or, more precisely, my lack there-of. I mean, how else could I have managed to stub a toe from one foot on the shoe in which my other was clad. And to do it in such as way as to bend the nail back enough to make it bleed.

The worst part about it was I was simply trying to get out of my car, certainly a task I should have mastered by now.

At least I didn’t cry right there in the middle of the parking lot.

If that had been the end of it, I might have been able to save some face. But no, the drama continued. The next incident took place as I was preparing the evening meal for our house full of company. Somehow I managed to sear myself rather than the pork as I removed dinner from the oven.

Did I forget the oven was hot, or simply lack the coordination to safely remove the roast from the oven? I’ll let you reach your own conclusion.

It doesn’t help that my big brother is visiting. He’s incredibly quick to point out that, despite his being 14 or so years my senior, I’m the one with more gray.

Well, brother dear, I may be showing a little wear and tear, but at least I still have my eye sight.